Yes, I Know. Death Sits With His

One Can't Build Little White Picket Fences To Keep Nightmares Out.

I Am Younger Each Year At The First Snow. When I See It, Suddenly, In The Air, All Little And White And Moving; Then I Am In Love Again And Very Young And I Believe Everything.

You Cutting The Lawn, Fixing The Machines, All This Leprous Day And Then More Vodka, More Soda And The Pond Forgiving Our Bodies, The Pond Sucking Out The Throb.

I Am A Collection Of Dismantled Almosts.

It Would Be Pleasant To Be Drunk.